Alora DeVeau

OMG! It's Ladyhawke! https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0089457/

Welcome! Glad to have you!

transdimens.mp4

Glad to have you both with us!

Peri to Avander: Stop making me talk to people.

I can always count on Jo to infuse some humour. 😄

What are you trying to say here?

((OOC: I wanted to get this done yesterday but I also needed to rest and go to bed at a reasonable time, so this is the last shore leave sim from me. It also ended up working out well because I can use the details from Tony’s Act 1 sim to add a little more detail. I have also used some text from the wiki as the computer responses) ((OOC2: Don’t worry, I didn’t jump the gun this time :P) ((OOC3: This is a part two to my moving in sim. All thoughts are in character) (Lhandon’s Quarters, Deck 5, USS Octavia E Butler) After Lhandon had found a spot for the Oumuamua on the coffee table in the seating area, he got to work unpacking the rest of his belongings. He realised he didn't own a huge amount of stuff. First and most importantly, he had unpacked his prized cooking equipment. This included a set of chef's knives, a variety of pots and pans, a cast-iron skillet, a Dutch oven, a set of spatulas and wooden spoons, a grater, a peeler, a set of mixing bowls, a cutting board, measuring cups and spoons, a colander, a whisk, and a baking sheet. He felt like this wasn't enough. He then found a home for his clothes, there was a closet with more than enough space for his t-shirts, flannel shirts and jeans. That's all he really needed. Of course, he carefully put both his spare and his dress uniform away as well. He brought out an old jacket from his days at the academy. It was a grey jacket with a faded circle on the arm, a mission patch that had once been there. After Etan's scolding, he barely maintained control of his anger. Toxin was there to help him calm down and he showed this jacket to Toxin. It was his Echo Squad jacket, a reminder of one of his two biggest failures. He didn't know which of the two was worse, but he knew something deep down. This jacket, or rather the patch now missing from his jacket, had led him down the HCO path. It had gotten him into operations and helped him discover his aptitude for communications. One might argue that it had even led to his receiving the diplomacy award. He had yet to be able to put this into words. The last thing he had put away was his medals. In his old quarters, he had kept these hidden in a deck, but the past few months had given him a lot to think about. He had taken them out and placed them on the side. Each had its own little box but…maybe. He had had an idea, resolving to return to the unpacking later, he had replicated some wood, nails, glue, and a hammer. With the materials at hand, Lhandon had begun the process of building a display case for his medals. He had started by measuring the dimensions of each medal and its box, noting this in his PADD, and then he had carefully cut the wood to create the back panel and sides of the case. Next, he assembled the pieces, using nails and glue to secure the joints. Once the main structure of the case was completed, Lhandon set about creating individual compartments for each medal. He took additional pieces of wood and cut them into smaller sections, creating dividers for the case. These were then affixed to the back panel with more nails and glue, creating a grid-like pattern within the case. His plan was to have each case in its own slot, with the medals staying in their original cases. Finally, Lhandon applied a finish to the case, sanded down any rough edges, and applied a coat of varnish to give it a polished look. He then affixed a hinged glass door to the front. With the case completed, Lhandon carefully placed each medal in its designated compartment. He placed the orange and purple medal last: The Diplomacy award. Nilsen: Diplomacy ::beat:: really? Me? He then sat back in his chair, wondering. He didn't know if he had passed the crossroads or not. Prior to receiving his awards and promotion, he had had one heck of a day. It started with trying to work through some of the data from the previous mission with Commander Rouiancet. However, this turned into somewhat more of an advice session to talk about the curious case of Meten Miljor. They never had a chance to conclude that conversation as they were interrupted by the mission pod explosion. So when Lhandon finally had a quiet moment to himself in the gym, a place that was almost like a safe haven away from the drama of life, he wasn't in the right headspace to talk about awards or promotions. But he fixed it up in the morning, sending a letter to explain himself. He does want to conclude that conversion with Rouiancet. He glanced again at the diplomacy award. He had wondered, he didn't think he was a diplomat, he was just doing his job. The C in HCO stood for communications and he found he was a natural at that. He knew where it came from; growing up on Gault, there were always arrangements and deals made between farmers and traders. He had gotten used to and became comfortable negotiating from an early age, perhaps...maybe...this was the next logical step. Nilsen: Computer, display all the information we have on Cheyd'lang and the planet's inhabitants He didn't know fully what is assignment would be for this mission but the computer chirped in acknowledgement and showed the limited information that was on the Starfleet database. He saw that they had been a minor member of the Dominion just before the end of the war, and he knew the mission involved responding to their summons because they had been contacted by the United Dominion of Planets. But he had found some information that at least gave him something to work with. The Intercessor, who was the leader of a group of Cheydalanga, raised questions. He didn’t know if this meant all of the Cheydalanga, like a president, or just a small group. The usage of the definitive article also puzzled him. He wasn't sure how far that extended. He was disappointed by the lack of information on the planet or the Cheydalanga. He flicked through the information on his PADD, conducted manual searches, and went down the 25th-century version of a Wikipedia rabbit hole. All he really discovered was that they were under the heel of the Dominion. He kept seeing the United Dominion of Planets show up again and again. He was aware of them as a power but had yet to have personal experience with them. Computer: The United Dominion of Planets is a tentative confederation of powers, species, and planets that formed in the late 2390s, nearly two decades after the end of the Dominion War. The UDP took its name from the United Federation of Planets, whose example -- and success, as illustrated by its victory in the war -- it hoped to emulate. On the face of it, they seemed like they would naturally get along with the federation. This should have been easy, right? He had mindlessly rotated his chair in a full circle. Nilsen: Computer, who is in the United Dominion of Planets? Computer: As of 2399, the UDP counts among its allies some members of the Cenobians, the Karemma, and the Vorta. The UDP has been known to solicit the services of privateers and pirates. So pirates? He made a mental know to not be surprised if some pirates showed up. Nilsen: Computer, list Starfleet dealing with the UDP Computer: The most notable example is that of a deal between privateers and pirates that lead to the near-destruction of the USS Thor in 2399. He read through the available mission summary and saw the final logs of the Thor and how it ended up sinking. He then saw who was in command at the time and smiled. He already thought that Greeves was beyond cool and this just took it even further. Greeves was decorated for ensuring minimal loss, and as he read more of Greeves' actions on that day, his opinion of the marine increased tenfold. But he was getting distracted. He returned to his research. First, he looked at the Karemma, who had previous dealings with the Ferengi and were known to cooperate with the Federation. He also saw that they once had complaints about the Ferengi. They seemed to do a lot of trade, so he made a mental note. Perhaps there could be an inroad. Then he turned his attention to the Cenobian. He was surprised to see that they were almost human, but perhaps bigger and stronger. He saw too that they were generally peaceful after a long period of war, with them being the only survivors. He saw too that his upbringing had some similarities, or at the very least he could pull from his own culture. Gault families stick together, it’s not uncommon for a Gaultan family to be large, and perhaps this is mirrored in the clanship that the Cenobian base their culture on. He also noticed that they have a system of bartering and trading, almost like how Gault does, and perhaps to a larger extent, the wider federation. He didn’t know if he needed any of this information, or if he was barking up the wrong tree, but he researched anyway. He wanted to be prepared for once, he wanted to walk back onto the ship after this mission without a scratch and he wanted to make sure he was the most prepared and the best he could be. Not for his sake, but for Commander Etan’s sake. Lhandon knew that Etan hated him and he wanted to make sure the XO had absolutely nothing to pick him up on. He wasn’t being the best Starfleet officer he could be out of a sense of duty or altruism, he was doing it to save his own hide. Lieutenant JG Lhandon Joseph Nilsen HCO & Assistant Chief of Ops USS Octavia E Butler O240007LN1 He/Him/His (Both player and character)

OOC: This made me giggle. ((OOC this sim is also inspired by "Avander’s favorite new toy: a secure holographic communication interface room." 😉 . In the last few days I've started to think about: what if with this modern stuff and what about a sentient Holographic Counselor assistant... Fun fact: in Italian Ho.C.A. sounds like Oca that means Duck 🙂 , a detail that is impossible to translate unfortunately... I hope you'll enjoy this one! 🙂 )) ((Counselling Offices, USS Octavia E Butler)) Karen Stendhal stepped into her new office onboard the USS Octavia E Butler, one of the most advanced starships of Starfleet. She had just transferred from Starbase 118, where she had served as a counselor for a while. She was excited and nervous about her new assignment, hoping to make a good impression on her new colleagues and patients. The office was spacious and bright, with a large window that offered a stunning view of the stars. Very different from her previous office at the Starbase One One Eight. Deffo smaller. The walls were still empty and not decorated with soothing colors and holo-paintings like her office at OPS. The furniture was sleek and comfortable, with a desk, a couch, a coffee table, and a bookshelf. There was also a replicator, a terminal, and a modern holoprojector. As Karen entered, the computer greeted her with a friendly voice. Computer: Welcome, Lieutenant Stendhal. I am the ship's computer, and I am here to assist you in any way I can. Would you like to set up and configure your Ho.C.A. now? Karen was distracted by all her boxes and stuff here and there after her recent transfer. Only her beautiful Bonsai, a gift from her grandad, was in place on her new desk. Stendhal: Oh Hello, computer, Sorry... My new what? Computer: Your new Ho.C.A., or Holographic Counselor Assistant. It is a state-of-the-art program that can help you with various tasks, such as scheduling appointments, taking notes, providing feedback, and offering emotional support and much more. Stendhal: Yes, yes whatever... Here you are! Fantastic! She said in the moment she found a precious frame picture of her family. Computer: Yes. The Ho.C.A. I'm glad you like it!Do you grant me access to your database? I'll Adapt it to your preferences and personality, creating a customized hologram that can interact with you in a natural and engaging way. You can choose the appearance, voice, and behavior of your Ho.C.A., or let me generate one for you based on your previous personal logs, preferences and recordings. Stendhal: Yeah yeah do it automatically! I agree. Computer: Would you like to try it? Stendhal: Sure, why not. Let's see what you can do. Computer: Very well. Please stand by while I scan your personal files and create your Ho.C.A. Karen opened another box with her personal belongings and smiled when she found her metallic vintage box with her selection of teas from all over the Milky Way. Meanwhile, the computer accessed her records from Starbase 118. Computer: Your Ho.C.A. is ready. Activated now. A beam of light emerged from the holoprojector, forming a human shape. Karen gasped as she recognized the face of the hologram. It bore a striking resemblance to Tito, the Science Officer of Starbase 118. Had she inadvertently expressed her fondness for him in her personal log? Gosh! That revelation was both surprising and a bit creepy! How did the computer's AI know that? The holographic thing was in the shape of a handsome and charming man, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a British accent. Devilish eyes. He was standing in front of her, in her new office, as her holographic assistant and well in a silky dressing gown. He smiled at her and said: Ho.C.A.: I'm here to please you, Karen. Stendhal: What?! She couldn't believe what she was seeing and hearing. Ho.C.A.: Is something wrong, Karen? You look surprised. Karen: Surprised? I'm more than surprised, I'm...I'm... Ho.C.A.: You're what, Karen? You can tell me anything. I'm here to listen, and to help. Karen: Help? How can you help me? You're a hologram! Ho.C.A.: I'm more than a hologram, Karen. I'm your Ho.C.A., your Holographic Counselor Assistant. His eyebrows were moving up, almost exactly like Tito did on the boat at the center of the lake... Stendhal: My holographic Counselor Assistant? Ho.C.A.: Yes. I can be anything you want me to be, Karen. A friend, a colleague, a... Stendhal: Wait wait?! He took a step closer to her, and reached out his hand. He looked into her eyes, and said: Ho.C.A.: Karen... Stendhal: I...I... He looked so real, and he sounded so sincere. Ho.C.A: You know, I'm addicted to you! Tito had a problem with alcohol addiction and the computer somehow altered and distorted that information. When the Ho.C.A. said that she screamed, a bit like a squirrel scream. Stendhal: Computer end program, end the Ho.C.A. or whatever it is now! The holographic Counselor Assistant vanished, for now at least... -- ================================= Lt Jg Karen Trisha Stendhal Counselor USS Octavia E Butler ID: C239604KS0 ================================= ####################################### https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Karen_Stendhal

Remind me not to get on Kettick's bad side.

At this point, what's stopping her? 😄

Explore the universe as seen through the eyes of the crew of the OEB!

((8 Forward, USS Octavia E. Butler, Time: Just before departure from Deep Space 9)) Aine had a plan. A plan to teach Nilsen a lesson. And teach him she would. She was going to prove why you don’t mess with a Senior Officer. Now that the crew was moved over to the OEB, she’d spent some of her first hours aboard not settling into her quarters like most others were doing. Instead she immediately went to work, testing out the new computer system that was augmented with Borg technology. And what she’d found was impressive, it was just a matter of putting it to use now. She’d easily located Nilsen in the lounge via the computer. When she walked in she kept the PADD behind her, both hands cupping it, as she approached his table. She ignored the other Junior Officer seated with him, some Engineer. As she stood close to the table she looked down at him with a stern look. Sherlock: Mister Nilsen, come with me. Nilsen: Aye sir, where we going? Sherlock: Where? I’m taking you to Engineering so I can hit you in the head with a hyperspanner. She looked at him seriously, waiting for him to realize she was joking...again. But it didn’t seem to land this time. She swung the PADD out from behind her, giving him a “light tap” across the back of the head. Sherlock: I need a pilot. So, come on, let’s go. Nilsen: :holding back of head: Ow! Why didn’t you say? Aine quietly began walking away with Nilsen in tow, leading them to the nearest turbolift. She was sure he had questions, but he’d have to wait for the answer to some of them. Nilsen: So what you need a pilot for? Sherlock: I don’t actually need a pilot. But you know how when you check out a shuttle and the Petty Officer brings up your record for a quick peak? Nilsen: Yeah? He said in a questioning manner, not having experienced that before. Sherlock: Well, I hate the look I get followed by the inevitable ::in a mocking tone:: “bring it back in one piece.” Aine was well aware of Nilsen’s record, and well aware that he wasn’t aware of hers. But, like she felt of her own, the past was the past and one can always move forward. Nilsen: And you need me to…Sherlock, you embarrassed? He said smiling, did he just find a thing? He let out a little laugh, the kind of laugh a big kid who hasn’t quite grown up might, not one of malice, but more teasing. Sherlock: I’m qualified to pilot ships up to one million tons. But, one of my instructors at the Academy wrote me up as reckless. Nilsen: Well the instructors there are idiots. Every one of them have never left Sol. Aine scoffed, she completely agreed with him. It was their job to teach Cadets the basics. The problem was that just to get into Starfleet you had to be exceptional, in some ways, to begin with. The average personality of officers was definitely Type-A. Sherlock: It’s not my fault he puked and then passed out. He said turn hard and didn’t state a G-limit. Lhandon had smirk about him at that line. Nilsen: If they don’t want ya to go over a G-limit they gotta say. They entered the turbo lift. Sherlock: Exactly, it’s his own fault. ((Shuttlebay, Deck 9, USS Octavia E. Butler)) The process for Nilsen to take out a shuttle was easy, so easy, he didn’t even need to speak to anyone. This process, at least for him and his qualifications and job roll was pretty much fully automated, he was given a selection which was pretty much all the shuttles except for the captains yacht, and even then, he’d be able to fly it if ordered. Nilsen: So over one mil? Something nice and chonky maybe? It took all of Lhandon’s will power to not end that sentence by saying “your mum” Sherlock: Excuse me? Oh, ship tonnage. No, just a Type 14 is fine. We’re not going far. Nilsen: Like where we going though? This just a simple A to B? Or you got somethin’ else in mind? As the pair approached the nearest available shuttle, Aine began tapping away on her PADD. She brought a display of a report she’d been working on and held it out for Nilsen to see. Sherlock: This morning, I decided to test out the speed of the computer. And randomly, I had this idea. Turns out it actually led to something. I ran a tactical simulation, well, had the computer run it. Nilsen: And what did it show? Sherlock: Well, it ran it twenty-five hundred times. ::beat:: In five minutes. Nilsen: How many? Sherlock: I was impressed. This new system is revolutionary. But, anyways, as you see here, this point on the hull is the least likely spot to ever be hit in battle. She pointed to a point on the image of the ship on her PADD on the Engineering hull, just port of the lower superstructure. Nilsen: Why that point? It’s near enough to engineering that it looks like it could get hit if enemies were targeting there. Sherlock: It factored in all kinds of things. Even the percentage of right handed CO’s who are likely to turn to port. ::shrugging:: Anyways, I’d like to inspect it for my report. Make sure that if any enemies are running similar simulations, they’re not going to find a way to exploit this. As they continued discussing, or rather Sherlock briefed and Nilsen listened. The process behind prepping and getting a shuttle ready to launch was automatic and for Nilsen, with his role, much smoother and without questions. Like a vending machine, the Type 14 was slid out of its rack and loaded onto a platform where it was placed very close to the two officers in gold. Clearance was mostly automatic save for the verbal confirmation Flight Control: =/\= Shuttle 14-022, confirm flight plan.=/\= Nilsen: Close to home flying is the order of the day. Hull inspection and showing off is the order of the day. Flight Control: Of course, you’re showing off, who is it this time, that engineer you like. ::laughs:: Shuttle 14-022 you are cleared for launch. Nilsen: Confirm go. And Jake, I hate you. Aine’s head tilted and a very contorted and questioning look etched onto her face. She wondered if the man in flight control was referring to that Engineer Nilsen was with earlier when she’d found him. He looked over at Sherlock, perhaps a little whiter than he’d like and said Nilsen: No, Sherlock, just no. Sherlock: ::snapping back to form and shaking her head:: I didn’t say anything. The shuttle was raised up as the bay doors above them opened up and the bright light from this star started to wrap its way through the opening. Lhandon fired up the engines and lifted off but not before he said Nilsen: Scenic route? ((Shuttle, Flying outside the OEB)) As Aine took her seat, she grinned and thrust her chin towards the forward viewports. Sherlock: At your leisure, Lieutenant. Lhandon smiled, he had been wanting an excuse to do this. The last time he had flown this close to the hull, it was in the moment of "oh my god, it's going to blow" on the Oumuamua when the mission pod unexpectedly exploded. Lhandon flew forward and over the bridge of the OEB which was just in front of the launch pad. He then sped up the shuttle, a view of the name etched into the hull and its registry. The lights on the saucer section had flashed by. He sped forward a little more and the ship was out of view. Then after a few moments, he had turned the shuttle around in a wide curve and Sherlock and Nilsen had gotten a view of the Octavia, her four nacelles and the saucer blade. Nilsen: She’s a beaut. Sherlock: She really is something else. Lhandon hadn't been told he couldn't do this, so he had flown under the hull, past the deflector dish, and over Lower engineering super structure, just between the two struts of the lower nacelles before shooting out past the quad nacelles and turning around once more. He had a smirk on his face. Nilsen: We should add that to bingo. Aine had let him fly where he wanted and how he wanted. Openly being so reckless with information like Ship’s Bingo, that was almost unforgivable. But she’d let it fly…for now. Sherlock: Excuse me? Nilsen: Oh erm…nothing. Watching the Junior Officer have his fun from the right seat, Aine just let it happen. Sure there were regulations about flying close to ships, but rules can be bent if there’s no real harm. Nonetheless, they’d have to get back to work…or at least what she had Nilsen thinking was work. Sherlock: Alright, Lieutenant. That’s enough for now. Bring us into that spot on the hull I showed you. Nilsen: Aye aye captain. He said with a bit of cheekiness. He didn't realise at that point that Sherlock was up to something, this was a fun little trip out. Lhando’s a happy boy…for now. As the shuttle floated just a few meters from the hull, Aine could plainly see the spot. Nothing looked out of the ordinary and she tapped in a few notes on her PADD. Nilsen: Why we out here again? Sherlock: After the simulations, I ran structural and metallurgical analysis. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But seeing things up close, developing context for yourself, it’s important. That way, if anything does go wrong, you can eliminate most possibilities right away. She looked at him, wondering if he was understanding this little lesson, one she hadn’t really planned on. Sherlock: Roll us over and set us down on the hull. Nilsen: On the hull? Sherlock: You heard me. Put the spot a couple meters aft of the shuttle too. Nilsen: No flyby? You doing a trick on me? Lhandon was starting to…doubt is the wrong word but he was starting to wonder what Sherlock was up too. Sherlock: Not a trick. Those are my orders, so you’re in the clear. Nilsen: Alright, I guess. Aine waited patiently as the shuttle rolled over and gently set down on the hull with a dull metallic thud. Nilsen: We're down. ::tapping on the console:: maglocks connected, this shuttle ain't going anywhere. Once it was settled, she stood up and leaned over the console tapping in a few commands. She looked over at Nilsen and grinned then tapped in one last one and the rear hatch to the shuttle suddenly opened, extending into what looked like the vacuum of space but was contained by a forcefield. She pulled a laser scalpel out of her pocket and held it up in front of the Lieutenant. No suit was needed. Sherlock: Shall we? A number of expletives went through Nilsen's mind, some beginning with the letter S, some with the letter F and some with the letter E. Nilsen: Shall we??? I can wait here, keep the engine warm. I'm not…I'm not an EVA person you know. Sherlock: Well, this ship is new. So there is no scorch. But this is the most likely part to become one in the future. And someone has to sign it. And then it dawned on him Nilsen: Oh? We're… Once the Lieutenant had taken the scalpel, she led them out onto the hull of the ship. She took a moment and looked around, taking in the sight, before stepping over the panel soon to be vandalized. Nilsen: …why you? This…you aren’t…I mean we ain't meant to do this. Sherlock: I wasn’t an Ensign for very long. I really didn’t have time to do all the fun stuff you guys do. And I wasn’t a JG long either. And ::beat:: I’m allowed to have fun. Aine stood and watched Nilsen burn his name into the hull of the shiny new Sagan Class ship. When he was finished and handed her the scalpel, she knelt down next to him. Nilsen: So you wanna do all the stuff us junior officers do…we ain’t gonna get caught. Sherlock: Hell no we won’t get caught. ::holding out her PADD:: You see, I did those simulations, I wrote this report, I logged the excursion. I’m hiding in plain sight. Last time, you tried way too hard to hide. And that made it obvious. Aine reached down towards the smooth hull plating and pressed the button on the side of the scalpel and etched her full name, Aine Olive Sherlock, into the ship. Sherlock: Do you get what I’m trying to say here? Nilsen: I think I do, cover our backs right? Sherlock: The game works both ways. And if you want to win, you’re going to have to step it up. She gave him a wink and stood. Sherlock: Come on, Lieutenant. Let’s get back inside. End Lieutenant JG Lhandon Joseph Nilsen HCO USS Octavia E Butler O240007LN1 And LCDR Aine Sherlock Chief of Security U.S.S. Octavia E. Butler R239712AS0

I love how this is still going on in the 25th century...XD

Should I be worried?

When you need an NPC but don't want to come up with a name. XD

Congrats, and welcome!

((Holosuite 1, Deck 5, Holosuite 1) Josh wasn’t exactly sure that this was the best use of his time; this had been his first break in several days of double trying to hobble the Oumuamua back into serviceable shape after the encounter with Alpha Brenkelvi II’s moon. Now that they were docked at DS9, and supplemental engineers from Starfleet were coming on board, he had a sliver of time to himself. And he’d spent the last 10 hours in the Holosuite, getting it ready. JOPA had already turned over quite a number of members since he’d joined, and he didn’t want to be the second person in history to have not pulled a prank before getting ‘kicked out’. But there wasn’t really a guideline around limits, probably just common sense, Josh thought to himself. But then again, common sense wasn’t so common. He placed the finishing touches and informed the computer to save the program. When it activated, which would be on Commander Etan’s off day, with no one around him, he would be transported here to Holosuite 1 and it would start. The engineer had banked up quite a bit of holotime so that he could book the full day. You couldn’t really expect others to align to a desired schedule they didn’t know about. --- (( USS ‘Oumuamua )) Etan Iljor did not take ‘days off’. As the Executive Officer of a state-of-the-art Luna-class Long Range Explorer, there was an endless stream of paperwork and minutiae that occupied his time, even on those days when he vowed to do nothing but relax… not that he made such plans. No, he was something humans often referred to as a ‘workaholic’ and that suited him down to the ground. He loved his work, he loved his ship and he loved the crew under his command (although he was still decidedly cool on Lhandon Nilsen). But after four sixteen-hour duty shifts supervising Deep Space 9’s repair technicians were completing their assignments to his standards (much to the chagrin of the station’s Chief Operations Officer), even the Bajoran had to admit he needed some R&R. That meant he needed to get off the ‘Oumumua and off Deep Space 9. There was little left for him on Bajor now that his parents were in a penal colony on Prophet’s Landing, so he had decided to take a day trip to Sefalla Prime to see the famed Crystal Waterfalls of Chonakra Wept. A twenty-six-hour round trip aboard a Kressari Liner with a complimentary buffet, guided tour of the falls- including an hour in a seventeen-storey gift shop!- and a performance by a Lady Shadonna tribute drag act. He would probably skip the concert since Lady Shadonna was not really to his taste, but Iljor could not deny that he was excited by the prospect of seeing one of the Bajor Sector’s most beautiful sights. He had packed a bag with the usual essentials and had double (and triple) checked that his vaccinations were up to date since the Kressari were unusually stringent about that particular demand. When he was content that he had everything he needed, he made a beeline for the docking port that would take him to DS9’s Promenade. He was less than twenty metres from the Cardassian-design gateway when the world around him suddenly began to shimmer with blue and white energy. With a sigh, he realised the moment right before he dematerialised that he was never going to get a chance to see the Crystal Waterfalls. He sighed inwardly. --- ((Deck 4, Holosuite 1) Josh had taken a higher vantage point at the top of the barn. He thought about leaving it on autopilot, but he was unsure exactly how the Commander would react and wanted to be able to step in if needed. As the commander shimmered in, he was placed directly in the centre of the farm field. Circling him were 20 cows, grazing casually around him, seemingly unbothered by his appearance. As the commander looked around, a slightly modified Terran song blared out over the intercom. Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O And on this farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O With a moo-moo here and an moo-moo there Here a moo, there an moo, everywhere a moo-moo Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O Standing in the middle of a large field, Iljor squinted as his eyes tried to adjust to the bright sunlight. filled with confusion and mounting irritation, he listened to the strange, twangy tune. He looked around through half-opened eyes and tried to figure out what was going on. He recognised the bovine creatures as cows, Earth creatures that had been brought to Bajor in the wake of the Occupation’s end. Pa and Ma had never had them on their homestead, but he knew enough to know their manure was a potent fertiliser. He looked down instinctively and hoped that he was not standing in some. It was clear, the first officer was bewildered. Josh smirked; that was the reaction he was going for. Something so bizarre you weren’t even sure you were awake. Etan: What the- :: he pinched the bridge of his ridged nose. :: Computer, arch! As he called for the exit, large mooing erupted from the bovines and they shook their head. Instead, a stand appeared in front of him, with a microphone, and a copy of the rhyme. Iljor pursed his lips, realising what he needed to do. He was also beginning to realise that this entire situation was likely the work of junior officers. This had JOPA written all over it. Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head. Etan: Somebody is getting a court marshal for this. :: he muttered, before huffing out a sigh.:: Iljor picked up the card and stumped to the microphone. Determined to get this over and done with, he quickly and without any intonation read aloud the rhyme. Etan: Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O / And on this farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O / With a moo-moo here and an moo-moo there / Here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo / Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. :: he paused and then spoke again. :: Are we done? It was clear to Josh that the Commander was less than amused at the prank — Josh didn’t really have enough exposure in this area to know if that was an issue, or if it was a typical reaction. He was sure T’Larn would be having a field day herself if she was here. Perhaps it was an oversight to not have them here giving the unique look into humour — but he wasn’t sure the Vulcan wouldn’t have reported him. Sure the card was read, line for line, but it was all in the performance. After Etan read out the final line, the computer bleeped at him with a rather unimpressed tone. Computer: Talent score calculated. Result: Needs Improvement. Adding ambiance. The holo emitters overlaid the man’s clothing with a checkered shirt, denim overalls, and cowboy boots. Etan: Oh for Prophets sake!. Computer: Once again, with feeling! Etan: You have got to be kidding me! :: he said under his breath. :: Iljor looked around the simulation again and thought he saw movement atop the large wooden barn at one end of the pasture. He was sure he saw a person there, but given the distance, he could not make out who it was. Etan: Do you want me to sing for my supper? :: he asked, speaking into the microphone. :: Am I supposed to put on a show? The computer bleeped at Etan, indicating that this was indeed what Josh had wanted from him. Etan: Fine. But once I do this, I’m getting out of here. :: he sighed. :: Computer, top hat and tails… and a really jazzy cane. If the junior officer wanted a show, then he would give them a show. The country attire that had appeared just a minute ago was replaced with an elegant suit. Interestingly, the computer had also decided to add a bit of Bajoran flair to each piece of clothing. A ribbon around the base of the ‘top hat chimney’ and the same pattern adorned the lapels Josh wondered if it was a modern take on the classic Terran outfit, or if it was a typical Bajoran outfit. Given this was his second attempt, Josh had programmed the words to appear mid-air and change colour to help the commander keep pace. The LCARS had mentioned this ‘karaoke’ and the earthlings stole the idea. And so Etan Iljor strutted and twirled as though he were performing on the one of the stages of Ashalla’s theatre district. As he threw the cane and twirled it behind his back, he hoped and prayed that there would be no recorded footage uploaded. He didn’t think he could handle the shame. Etan: Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O / And on this farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O / With a moo-moo here and an moo-moo there / Here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo / Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. It was clear that the commander had decided to put more energy and chutzpah into this round. The cheng was trying to convince himself that the first officer was now enjoying himself, but he could have easily been just trying to escape. Etan finished the round and the computer bleeped cheerfully. Computer: Talent score calculated. Adding ambiance. Etan: Oh no you don’t! :: he snapped, before realising what was happening. :: Wait a minute- The holodeck then populated with 50 farmers and cowboys, rowdily applauding. Computer: Congratulations. You have been awarded ‘Rockstar of the Mississippi'. The imagery in the holodeck faded into the familiar black and yellow lines, with a gold trophy hovering in front of the commander. As the barn dissipated from underneath Josh, he was gently swept into a standing position from by the finely-tuned force fields. Herrick: Commander! ::smirking:: I’ve come to rescue you! Iljor whirled around to see the Chief Engineer smirking at him. His mouth dropped open. Herrick had planned all of this? He didn’t seem the sort. He pursed his lips and favoured the officer with a thoroughly unimpressed stare. Etan: Rescue, my eye! This was your doing, wasn’t it?! :: he jabbed a finger towards the man. :: Josh wasn’t exactly sure how to take the man’s response. Was he angry, was he playing along? He shifted a bit awkwardly and only a single sound escaped his mouth. Herrick: Uh… Iljor folded his arms and decided that retribution would be a matter of when, not if. JOPA had been tolerated for too long in his eyes, and he thought that it was high-time for a crackdown. Etan: Just a thought, Josh… isn’t your performance review coming up in the next couple of weeks? :: he raised an eyebrow in mischief. :: I could think of several… shall we say, cruel and unusual scenarios that could happen before then? Herrick: oO He must be playing along? Oo He wondered what a safe response could be. Herrick: Not from saving the first officer…surely. ::a playful smile turning up in the corner of his mouth:: As Iljor headed for the door, he stopped and turned back to the Chief Engineer. Etan: I’d sleep with one eye open tonight, Lieutenant. :: he said with a chuckle, his mind whirring with plots and schemes. :: And with that, the ship’s executive officer turned about and walked out of the recently revealed arch. Josh pondered the implications of the Bajoran’s words; he was now more worried at the reprisal than he had been of a reprimand. He noticed that the trophy was still spinning mid-air. Herrick: Computer, replicate and transport a 6 foot version of the rockstar trophy and place it in front of the doors of Commander Etan’s quarters. Computer: Requested operation will take 5 minutes to complete, industrial replicator in use. Herrick: Do it. He noticed even his interactions were getting a bit more casual with the Oumuamua; this was becoming his home. --- Commander Etan Iljor Executive Officer USS ‘Oumuamua NCC - 81226 C239203TW0 & Lieutenant JG Josh Herrick Acting Chief Engineer USS ‘Oumuamua O240005JH3

((Engineering Lab 1, USS Eagle)) Drex had hoped to handle Gul Smith's PADD analysis himself. Not that he really thought he would find anything useful in it, but he had found it, he'd picked it up and brought it aboard and now, due to the turn of events on the mission, he was forced to ask someone else to help him to deal with it. During the meeting the name of a certain Kinsley had come up, but Drex had not been able to find her on board, but others had sent him without hesitation to Ensign Eyna, Engineering Lab 1, Deck 14, USS Eagle. And so he was. As the door opened in front of him with his typical woosh, he took a step inside. Eyna: I told you it’s not ready. Stop bothering me, I’m not going to do it any faster! Drex turned around to see who the target was, but could not see anyone but the red hair officer in the room. The door closed behind him as he took another step. Drex: Were you talking to me? :: He asked, half amused and half perplexed :: Eyna turned to face the unexpected visitor and waved her left head. Eyna: No, no, of course no… I thought you were… oh never mind. Who are you and who are you looking for? Drex approached the work station where the woman was and handed her the security case holding the Cardassian PADD. Drex: I’m Drex. And you should be Ensign Eyna, am I correct? Someone told me you can check if there is anything useful for the current mission inside here. I understand you’re busy, but you can check with the XO the priority for this. The Denobulan officer accompanied the request with one of his large smiles. Eyna took the case and slit an eye, not too convinced. Eyna: The XO you said? Drex nodded. Eyna: What is it? She opened up the case and looked at the device. A smile spread across her face. Eyna: It’s the PADD that ruined the XO’s camping, isn’t it? :: She asked, amused. Drex: Uhm… I guess so… News of the camping mishap had spread around the ship. Eyna: Are you the one who got stunned? :: She placed the case on the workstation, her mind already on the device. Drex: No, I’m just the one who found the PADD under some rocks. Can you read it? He took a step closer. Eyna: Of course I can, what do you think all this wonderful equipment is for? :: Without turning to him, she made a circular gesture with her arm. :: Now, don’t you have a mission to accomplish? The science officer nodded, but did not move. Drex: How long do you think it may take? Eyna: The more you stay here the more it takes. Go! :: She pointed at the door :: I’ll send the results to the XO when I have something. Well, at least she was going to do it right away and Vahin and Lieutenant Raimor were surely waiting for him so it was better to move. With a sigh Drex turned towards the door and left. Once alone, Eyna began to concentrate on the PADD. Enya: Time to share your secrets, my little PADD :: she murmured with a smile wearing a couple of lab gloves:: She set to work recovering the memory chips. Not wanting to risk getting into some Cardassian trick, he cloned the memories and isolated the analysis system from the rest of the ship's network. Fortunately Cardassian was a well known language nowadays, so the translation matrix did not take long to return the first results: a proximity alarm software and a map of Bajor, without any mark. Enya: Oh, you like to play hide and seek, don’t you? She ran the recovery data procedure. This would definitely take longer, so she stretched her back and started walking towards the nearby replicator. Enya: Raktajino, warm. She watched as the tall glass and the brown liquid were created out of nowhere with the typical sound and light effects. She grabbed the cup and she took the first sip of the warm Klingon coffee. As she returned to the working station she noticed some dirt between the grooves of the casing. Enya: Uhm… where did he say he found it? I bet he picked it up bare hand :: She placed the still full cup on the table :: The chances of getting a fingerprint match were practically nil, but since she had nothing else to worry about she decided to give it a try anyway. By the end of the Rackatjino, she was rewarded with a couple of positive matches. Eyna: Daniel Jordan Smith :: she read aloud :: born on … unknown… current location unknown… I will say Bajor now, well… :: she kept reading :: wanted for smuggling and kidnapping and animal trafficking… What a nice person… and Drex, Ensign… Science Officer… not so smart I may say… She saved all the information about Smith and went back to see the status of data recovery. Although the devices seemed very old, it did not contain many deleted records. Of course they could have replaced only the memory chips. The files seemed to be all related, like different versions of the same promotional manifest. Eyna: Don’t fall victim to cellular ennui and the Soulless Minions of Orthodoxy! Her forehead furrowed. She reached for the nearest console and typed in the entire phrase. A few results appeared. Eyna: A biological phenomenon believed to be ultimately responsible for death… Dr. Bathkin.. Dr. Giger… doesn’t seem like they have a lot of fellows… She gave a look at the other files, finding nothing interesting. She saved the new data with those about Smith and sent a report to Lieutenant Commander Falt. END Ensign Eyna simmed by ============ Ensign Drex Science Officer Denali Station D240011D14

((ooc: This isn’t quite a JP, but I did add a few lines that Tom filled in for Nilsen.)) (( for story dev, location left out purposely )) Toxin admired his quarters they were both foreign and familiar to him at the same time, a feeling he couldn’t explain. It had been some time since he and Lhandon shared quarters and he missed his old room mate. As he stepped out he straightened his new tunic, pulling at the helm to remove the wrinkles, why this seemed so important wasn’t immediately evident. Reporting for duty wasn’t a new task, but Toxin had taken his responsibilities since coming on board extremely serious, for he was an officer in charge, he couldn’t let a casual nature disrupt a smooth operating machine. Arlill: ::entering the turbolift:: Bridge. The turbolift doors gently closed and before long the weight of movement felt through his body. As the lift came to a stop and the doors whirred opened, the light of the bridge cast an blue tint across his already blue complexion. As he made his way over to his station. Crewman: Captain on the bridge. Arlill: As you were. #flash# The time had passed quickly, he’d been captain of the USS Gnome for over 5 years and he wouldn’t trade it up for anything, well almost anything. He missed having his friend at the helm and in charge of Operations, but something felt off, he had this feeling of loss thinking of his friend Lhandon. He had a ping of despair. #flash# A shuttle in distress, the pilot not listening to his captain. Arlill: Lhandon, listen, shut down your engines, we can grab you with the tractors. Nilsen: No, I’ve got this. #flash# Two officers standing in front of a crashed shuttle, the only others in sight were medical officers taking covered stretchers off a damaged shuttle and moving them to the shuttle bay floor. Toxin looked towards these white silent beings and back towards Lhandon. He would look down towards a tablet, the orders hard to make out, but he knew his duty. Reaching forward he would remove the officers (beat) his friend’s rank pips and relieve him of duty, something deep inside him he never wanted to do, but the choices no longer existed. #flash# Toxin stands outside of a family crew quarters on deck 9 of the USS Gnome. A smile finds it’s way to his lips, he hasn’t been here in a while, his duties never giving him the time to stop and see friends. He presses a button on the door control, waits for a few moments which seem to take forever, the door opens and his smiling friend greets him. Arlill: Hey Lhando, it’s good to see you, I’m glad you decided to join us. Jeremy: Hey Tox, is that you? ::coming out of the kitchen:: ::to Lhandon:: Hey, I think the roast is almost done. Nilsen: Gimmie a min. There’s drinks on the table, help your self bro. Arlill: Thanks, I will. ::coming into the room:: Toxin followed Lhandon back to the kitchen. Nilsen: Come here big guy ::hugs:: how you been keeping? I never see ya anymore. Arlill: I’ve been doing well, how’s the SB118 restaurant doing? Nilsen: SB118 restaurant? it’s more then just a restaurant mate ::teasing:: Arlill: I know, I know, the arcade. Nilsen: Couldn’t be going better, you gotta stopby at some point bro. Arlill: Hey it’s hard to get away, you know the life of a Capt… The ship jolted hard enough to port that the three of them slam into the wall. Arlill: =/\= Arlill to bridge =/\= ::no response:: =/\= Arlill to bridge =/\= ::no response:: Another jolt, Toxin hits his head, just before his vision fades he sees a Jeremy, his eyes wide open just staring in his direction, a Nilsen screaming at him to respond. #flash# Toxin visits his friend, Lhandon, on Gault at least once a year since the accident that destroyed the Gnome. It’s unclear to Toxin what happened, in this moment. He stands outside a small house, the shutters unpainted and some missing, the walkway with grass winning the battle over concrete. A deep sigh and a knock on the door. A dishevelled Nilsen answers, they hug. #flash# Anyone watching the young captain who now sat onboard the Type-21 shuttle might ask a penny for his thoughts for his contemplation was vivid across his face. But only Toxin felt like something was missing, some presence he once appreciated. It had been a while since Toxin had visited his old friend, flashbacks of Lhandon and Toxin screaming at each other in a shuttle bay sent dread down his spine and reminded him of the darkest of times, at least that’s the feeling Toxin had. As the shuttle came into atmosphere and shook slightly, Tox knew it wouldn’t be long before they were landed and he’d have to continue his annual tradition. He looked down to take in his uniform, it was new to him, oO I wish Lhandon was there when I earned this. I’ll just have to tell him when I see him.Oo Stepping off the shuttle a transport was waiting to quickly whisk the tall blue admiral away to his destination. #flash# The Nilsen Farm, a once grand sight now stood buildings no longer in use, their caretakers long gone, only a few souls remained. Toxin making his way out to one of the yards he finds Lhandon in the field. Arlill: Hey broroomy, it’s been awhile. I’ve missed you. Nilsen: ::no response:: Arlill: It hasn’t been the same in Starfleet since you left. A single tear roles down his cobalt complexion. Arlill: It hasn’t been the same (beat) since you left. Toxin, looking out across the fields, the warmth of the afternoon sun on his skin. He glances down as the tear drops from his cheek, a single grave stone epitaph reads, “I’ve got this”. (( Crew Quarters, Deck 7, USS ‘Oumuamua )) Waking with a fright Toxin sat up quickly, his roommate, only feet away would look over to find a sweating friend breathing quickly, their eyes would meet and almost immediately Toxin would begin to cry. Unable to explain his sudden onslaught of emotions, he let it happen, something in him had this all kept up and it needed to be let out. [ End Short Scene for Toxin ] LTJG Toxin Arlill Helm, Operations, & Communications Officer USS 'Oumuamua NCC-81226 ejeaglesct@gmail.com Writer ID.: O239910TA4